Taking it to the Mat a new Working Stiffs story
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: Would you get between Solo and Kuryakin in the gym - some poor fool has to...


People don't usually ask me what I do. They take one look at the gray sweat pants, the equally gray sweat shirt and the whistle, and they take a leap of faith. They guess high school football or baseball coach. If they happen to shake my hand, that might morph into a wrestling coach.

They don't ask and I don't volunteer, but if they did… if someone by some chance just thought to look past the trappings and wonder, I have the perfect answer.

"What do you do for a living?" they would ask.

"I keep rogue male elephants from killing each other." Is that a great answer or what? It's not the truth, because, honestly, I couldn't tell them what I do even if they did ask. But you I can tell. You see I happen to be in charge of the gym for UNCLE. That means I over-see the workouts, the routines, the conditioning of all our agents. It sounds like a headache and some days it is. Other days, it's just a job, but usually those aren't the days when my two biggest challenges are on the mat.

Every job has something that kicks your stress level over the goal post of your diastolic pressure, something that sends you home at night just craving that first sip of scotch or whatever your adult beverage of choice is. For me, that something comes in the forms of Napoleon Solo and his partner, Illya Kuryakin.

Napoleon is the CEA of Section Two. You don't get that job unless you are the best of the best. You have to be ready to lay down your life at a moment's notice, kill or be killed without hesitation. You have to be the smartest, the fastest, the cleverest, and the most willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done. You don't get that without serious effort. You train hard, long, and with oblivious disregard to the time, pain, and toll it takes on you both physically and mentally.

I will give it to Napoleon though, he's slicker than oil on a tile floor. He's doesn't look like much, thanks to some great tailoring. He's fast to smile and laugh; that makes people think he's easygoing. Just a word of advice; don't play chess with him. He'll have the next five games won before you've moved your first piece.

And when you're like that and you take a partner, you want that person to be your equal or near enough. It had to be someone you trust without hesitation, someone who watches your back while you're watching his. You want someone who is as good as you; maybe not better, but as good.

When you are Napoleon Solo, you don't have much to pick from. Napoleon was one of those kids who came in and just set everything that UNCLE knew about agents on its ear. He broke every record there was to break and then broke those. UNCLE didn't have anything close to someone who could keep pace with him.

Then along came Illya Kuryakin. Quiet, unassuming, skinny, he looked about as dangerous as a braided throw rug and suddenly Napoleon was in a fight for his pride and standing. As we would say back at the Rosa spread, he done got whupped the first time out with Illya.

Some men would have been offended or angry, but Napoleon is not a man you can predict. Oil and vinegar those two, but he and Illya became fast friends and even better partners. Together those two climbed the ladder so fast the maintenance guys couldn't even keep up with where to drop the contents of their desks.

We had a group of new recruits touring the facilities – always an anxious time for some of the junior agents, old hat for the senior guys. I could see Denehay ushering them into the far end of the gym and decided that perhaps it was perhaps time to put on a little show for them.

Kuryakin was working the bag as if it had personally insulted his mother, father, a sister and possibly a close cousin. Even with his hands wrapped and gloved, they were going to be bruised unless I did something to stop him or at least slow him down.

Napoleon was taking his time kicking the shit out of his trainer. Even with the heavy padding, poor old Gilbert was struggling to protect himself even further from Napoleon's well placed kicks and punches.

"Time, Solo," I shouted, blowing my whistle, and he pulled back, straightening up. He knew as well as I did that he still had twenty minutes to go. He'd barely worked up a decent sweat. Hell, his hair wasn't even messed up yet.

"What's wrong, Mike?" He patted said hair carefully.

"Denehay's here and I thought perhaps you and your partner would like to put on a little demonstration for them."

"And you were hesitant to get too close to those flailing fists and try to stop him yourself?" Napoleon began to unwind the tape protecting his hands.

"A strong sense of self-preservation runs through all members of my family."

"Coward."

Napoleon was still laughing as he crossed the mats and approached the bag. I saw Kuryakin's eye flick in his direction just once as Napoleon exchanged places with the chump trying to keep the bag still. Immediately, Kuryakin lit into the bag again.

"You're pulling with your right," Napoleon said, keeping his body loose to absorb the blows. Illya spun and kicked the bag, but Napoleon was obviously prepared. "Your knee must feel better today."

Kuryakin stopped and bent over, panting as he rested his hands on his thighs. "A little worse actually. For that, I blame you."

"I warned you about that last night."

"Do you want something, Napoleon, or are you just here to annoy me?"

"A little of both actually." Napoleon's mouth played around with a grin, and then sobered. "Mike would like us to put on a demo for Denehay's tour."

"You're that anxious to have me take you to the mat… again?" Kuryakin used his teeth to undo the strap on one of the gloves and worked his hand free by trapping the glove beneath his opposite arm and pulling.

"In your dreams, Kuryakin." The challenge was up and I grinned. This was going to be good.

Five minutes later, we had the new recruits sitting on the floor. You could see they were nervous, anxious, and more than a little excited. I scanned the young men and women, wondering how many of them I'd be training in the upcoming months, which ones of them would live through the rather singular experience of Survival School.

"How many of you are thinking about Section Two?" I asked as Napoleon and Kuryakin joined me. They'd changed from their sweat-stained outfits into shorts and tee shirts and I could see them both going through a sort of pre-fight check list, flexing various muscles, loosening joints, seeing what hurt, and, more importantly, what didn't. "These two gentlemen will be your bosses, providing they don't kill each other in the next ten minutes."

"When has it ever taken me ten minutes, Mike?" Kuryakin asked, cracking his knuckles. I noticed his knee was wrapped and Napoleon was wearing an elbow brace. These guys were ready to do what it took to win today. I wondered if our recruits knew just how lucky they were.

"You guys know the rules," I said, laughing. These two were just in the mood today.

"What are the rules, sir?" One mousey looking, dark haired woman spoke up.

"There aren't any." I got out of the way and let them do what they did best. Napoleon extended a hand out towards his partner, who eyed him warily and took it as if to shake it. Napoleon yanked and the game was on. I had to admit, I'm a glutton for testosterone and it was pumping right then and there. They'd stop before they seriously hurt each other, I hoped. I signaled to a couple of the Section Three agents to stand by, just in case reason went out the window.

Neither man was intent upon inflicting real injury, so their fight took on more of a wrestling bout as opposed to any real kicking and punching. I was glad. The last time a fist fight had devolved to that level between these two, I was mopping blood off the floor for an hour afterwards.

After ten minutes, I blew my whistle and watched as both struggled to stop. Neither of them liked not winning - note I don't use the word "losing". Not with these two. I gave them another sharp blast, just to let them know I wasn't kidding. Kuryakin dropped to the floor and pulled off his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face and to staunch a nose bleed when Napoleon accidently clipped him. I heard a couple of gasps, which made me chuckle. With his shirt off, the price these men pay for doing their jobs was apparent, crisscrossing his torso, some of the bruises fading, others newer and still brilliant among the scars.

"Hit the showers, guys." I knew neither man would argue with me. Considering how hard they'd been working out prior, I am amazed they'd lasted as long as they did.

"Sir, I have a question." It was the mousey-looking girl again. "Why didn't the dark-haired guy go after the blond guy's knee? It was obvious that it was his weak point. "

Oh, weak and Kuryakin, not two words to use in the same sentence. I winced as Illya's head jerked in her direction.

"Would you have?" he asked her and I thought she was going to spontaneously combust on the spot.

"Yes," she managed after a moment and Kuryakin gave her a no-holds barred grin. I've seen him kill with that smile. It's one of his lesser-known weapons.

"You'll make a good agent."

"If it had been a real fight, I would have," Napoleon answered. "It's your duty as an agent to exploit each and every weakness that you can in your effort to win. However, since this was just a demo and I didn't really want to seriously injure my partner, I chose other options. An agent always knows their options..." Napoleon reached out a hand up to Illya.

Within a heartbeat, he was stretched out spread eagle with Kuryakin's foot on his throat and the arm twisted, pinned between his partner's body and arm.

"Including when the fight is really over," Kuryakin finished Napoleon grunted as Kuryakin increased the tension a bit more.

"That wasn't fair." The woman's dander was up now.

"The first fair fight you expect from the enemy is likely to be your last." He realized his hold on Napoleon and helped him to his feet.

"Agreed and you broke a hold, Kuryakin." I pointed to the floor. "Drop and give me fifty. Napoleon, decide when he's done."

Begrudgingly, the Russian began a push-up, but I stopped him. "I didn't say you could use both arms." I turned back to the recruits and crossed my arms, happily listening to Kuryakin grunting.

"So what did any of that prove?" The girl again. I was beginning to really like her.

"I wanted you all to see just what you've got ahead of you. These other departments, they talk about the glamour, the excitement, I want you to see what being a Section Two UNCLE agent is really about: hard work, sacrifice, pain."

"Lots of pain," Napoleon said, grinning. He'd planted a foot on Kuryakin's ass and was applying downward pressure against his efforts to rise. "But there's also the upside."

"Which is?" Kuryakin's voice was tight.

"That in all likelihood, you'll never be partnered with either of us." Napoleon then swapped his foot for his hand, twisting it into Kuryakin's tee shirt and shorts and was now pulling upwards just slightly. "Come on, old son; let's get you into the shower while you can still move."

"I want you both to report to Degrassi after your shower." Degrassi was an ex-physical therapist for a pro football team and he gave a mean massage. Both of these guys could do with some time in his tender care.

Kuryakin got to his feet and followed his partner out of the room. A moment later, I gestured to one of my assistants. "Tommy, go and make sure they heard me."

"Got it, Coach." He trotted off and I turned back to the recruits.

"So what was that all about?" Someone different for a change.

"Those guys are about as far up the ladder as you can go. The rumor is that Napoleon is in line to take over as Section One, Number One, when the time comes. Yet they both still answer to me. If I told them to get out here, stark naked, and do jumping jacks, neither one of them would bat an eye."

"Would you?" My friend again – I did like her…

"No, I don't think that's necessary, but I could and they would do it and never ask why or challenge me. You are talking about taking on a job where everything comes down to discipline. How well you react to orders, how disciplined you are to both follow and give orders. Napoleon is technically my superior and yet he knows not to question my authority in here. Remember that it's not just about being able to follow orders, but also being able to give them that will make you a good agent. And the wisdom to know when to do which."

As they wandered back out of the gym, I wondered just how many I would see again, well, aside from that one girl. She had Section Two written all over her. I exchanged a few words with Denehay about her and then headed to the locker room after checking to make sure no one had killed themselves in my absence. Napoleon was in a steam cabinet, towel wrapped around his neck, sweat pouring off his face. Degrassi had Kuryakin stretched out on a table and was working him over as if he was a side of beef.

"You two okay?"

Anything Kuryakin might have wanted to say was limited to grunts right now.

"How did they look, Mike?" Napoleon asked.

"Raw, scared, except the one."

"Did you happen to catch her name?"

"Dancer, I think Andrew said."

"Keep an eye out for her; we're going to be seeing a lot of her." Napoleon winked at me. "I can feel it in my bones – the ones that haven't been broken."

I could too. After doing this job for as long as I have, you know when the balance is right - curiosity, self preservation, a flair for the dramatic, and a sense of worth. I had a feeling Napoleon was right. That young lady was going to go far. I just wondered if she was free for a drink later on. I'm old, but I'm not dead… yet.


End file.
